


Forgotten Hearth

by Sylla_Headhunter



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Holidays, Keitor Month 2020, Lotor is a God, M/M, We have the power of Satan and Keitor on our side
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-01
Updated: 2020-01-01
Packaged: 2021-02-27 09:01:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,567
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22074424
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sylla_Headhunter/pseuds/Sylla_Headhunter
Summary: Day One: HolidayLotor is the god of harvest, overshadowed by his ruthless father, Zarkon, a god of war. All but forgotten, he wanders through his empty temple, awaiting his death as a god. But alas, things to not always happen as he expects them to.
Relationships: Keith/Lotor (Voltron)
Comments: 9
Kudos: 77
Collections: Keitor Month 2020





	Forgotten Hearth

**Author's Note:**

> We could easily make this about christmas! Or new year! Or literally ANYTHING  
> But no, my brain decided, how about making Lotor a god and giving him his OWN holiday. Well. That went well. Maybe
> 
> It's not explicitely romantic but honestly, I had about 2 hours left and I'm afraid to die at this point so let's just jump right into it lmao

The harvest has come and gone and there is no one here besides himself. Again.

Lotor heaves a sigh and lets his body drape across the marble statue, made in his image (maybe the more precise way of saying it would be that he chooses this form whenever coming down to earth. He likes it that way, if he is being honest). The temple feels cold and empty, as always – no one has bothered to light his hearth for centuries now and the dampness creeping into every nook and cranny feels as abandoned as he himself does.

No one cares for the son of a mighty, and powerful, yet cruel god. It has never been any different – and yet the sting remains, the wound festering each year he returns to this empty kingdom of his.

"I should be indifferent to it already", he sighs, voice as soft and forlorn as the wind pounding on his door.   
He should be – but he isn't. He will, most likely, never be. Another sigh tears itself from his throat and he strides towards the hearth, lighting it with old magic writhing on his fingertips. It is far less than it had been last year, his powers dwindling into nothingness along with himself. The less people believe in their deities, the less said deities get to alter their fates, after all – it is a vicious cycle and he has seen many mighty fall from grace over the span of a few centuries at least. He had never envisioned himself to fall victim to this, however. After all, his father had been a figure people looked up to, had been worshipped in many a countries' religions under different names.

"My grace, falling with that of my father's. What a tragedy, indeed." He hears the soft contempt coating his voice and he hates it. He is _not_ his father – and yet, people's knowledge of him never truly extended past his ties to a wargod. Not even ties to his mother, goddess of wisdom, are as acknowledged as the ones he wants to disintegrate more than anything.

And now, he is about to lose his own life, his very essence, to the image of a cruel god.

It tears another sigh from his lips,  drawn into an unconscious sneer. 

A soft rapping on the door makes him pause, his eyes drawn towards it. A visitor? Unlikely – it is probably just the wind mocking his fall from grace at another god's virtue.

His eyes widen almost imperceptibly at the small boy tumbling inside, clutching desperately at his worn out coat. He is cursing, Lotor notices with a small inkling of amusement, for the wind seems to try and keep him outside until he finally manages to shut the door with a foul word. He is breathing harshly, his back pressed against the door while his eyes still roam the dark place. They are grey, tinged with just a hint of violet, and they seem to pop out of the boy’s skull as he takes in the figure in front of the hearth.

“You’re here!”  
He clamps his hand across his mouth in horror and Lotor can’t help himself – he smiles, his eyes surely shining with barely contained amusement. The boy clears his throat and finally moves away from the door, frowning softly at the fire starting to grow inside the hearth.

“I wanted to do that”, he says. “I’m sorry I was too late. Work has been hell.”  
Lotor stares at the boy, his amusement forgotten.   
“You … wanted to do what?”, he finally manages, and the boy scoffs.

“Light your fire. I can see why you’re not a god of wisdom.” His cheeks redden almost immediately but he stands by what he says, staring stubbornly up to Lotor. He is, probably, not a boy after all, his features that of an adult. He is just small in comparison to Lotor, very much so – to Lotor who can’t for the life of him answer, his mind still reeling from the words he just heard.

“Light my fire.” It’s not even a question but the boy nods and there is something achingly blooming inside Lotor’s chest, something akin to wonder.

“You haven’t forgotten me.” It is the only thing he finally manages to get out, and there is a smile on the boy’s face, one that warms him better than any fire would have ever been able to.

“Forgotten you? Never! I’ll always remember who helped us when we were in great need.”  
He gets a shriveled up potato from his coat and places it on the small altar just in front of the hearth, kneeling down next to it. Lotor blinks and follows him suit – he is still far smaller than Lotor himself but this way, he feels impossibly nearer to the boy, who has put his hands together and is obviously praying, his face scrunched up unconsciously. It is, quite frankly, the most adorable thing Lotor has seen in a long while.

“Say”, he begins and blinks indignantly, as the boy holds up one of his hands and shushes him. _Him!_ The boy has the audacity to shush a god! But he is in a good mood, his heart inexplicably warm just looking at the small figure in front of his hearth, and so Lotor obliges, his mouth set in a thin line. It takes the boy forever to finally lift his head again, frowning at the silver-haired god behind him.

“You do know that prayer is done in silence, right?”  
Lotor bristles. “I do know that”, he snaps back, a low growl rising from his throat. The boy grins.  
“You can talk to me now”, he offers and Lotor feels his temper rising to match the soft growl escaping his lips.

“You dare offer me the privilege to talk? Insolent monkey”, he mutters smoothly enough to make everyone run away in terror. The boy just blinks.

“I made sure your fire never went out for more than a day, you know?”  
Lotor pauses, his eyes growing ever so slightly larger. He has-

“Why?”  
It’s a simple enough question – the outrageous thing about it is that he had not intended to ask it, his mouth escaping the tight grasp he usually has on it. The insolent monkey just looks him square in the eyes.

“Because I wanted to.” He shrugs. “And besides, not lighting your hearth would make you disappear, right? I didn’t want for that to happen.” Another pause, and the last words are added almost as an afterthought, softly heard over the crackling flames behind him. “I would have missed you.”  
Lotor … doesn’t know what to say. Not for the first time, today, his tongue like lead, his heart stuttering in his chest. The monkey stands up and goes towards him, taking one of his hands in his – it’s tiny, small, way too small next to his, stark white against purple hue – and squeezing it gingerly.

“Happy harvest.”  
And he smiles up to Lotor, delicate like the first frosted coat of ice on a cold window.

“I pray for a good next year, oh Lord.”  
 _Oh, it will be,_ Lotor can’t help but think, _with you at my hearth._

He doesn’t say that but the monkey smiles and squeezes his fingers again, softly, before letting go and clapping his own once.

“And now let’s have a great holiday for you once again, my Lord.”  
  
He cleans the entire temple, humming a soft tune just under his breath, while Lotor stands by the hearth, transfixed by the way his heart hammers in his chest. It has been a while since someone even looked at him – and now they want to celebrate the one day he used to have complete control over. Now they want to let him bathe in their worship again, even though he had expected to have faded away long before he’d ever get to know the warmth again that seems to elate his entire being.

“How do you like he?”  
He is startled out of the labyrinth of his own thoughts mere moments later, it seems, but his temple has been transformed – the dust lingering on every step is gone, replaced by leaves. There is the musky scent of fresh earth tickling his nostrils and freshly picked vegetables and sheaves are placed on his altar after an eternity of not having seen any of them.

“I-”, he starts, unable to tell what it is he was trying to say, his heart swelling in his chest.

The monkey looks at him. “Yes? You? Who else am I supposed to ask?”, he says and Lotor frowns.

“It is acceptable, I suppose”, he snaps, striding towards the altar to pick one of the sheaves, all but burying his face into it and savoring the taste he thought he’s never have again.

_It is wonderful._

He doesn’t say that.

_I love it._

He doesn’t say that either.

But there is a quiet presence next to him and a small hand slipping into one of his own and a soft, reassuring squeeze and it feels like the words crowding on his tongue are being understood nonetheless.

And Lotor smiles into the sheaf, his eyes prickling with something he has no name for.

“Thank you.”  
A low chuckle sounds from next to him.

“You’re welcome.”  
 _Yes,_ Lotor thinks to himself, _I am. For the first time in forever._


End file.
